


Always and forever

by junetangerine (culuyetille)



Series: Bruce/Dick Week 2021 ficlets [5]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: AKA, Alternate Universe, Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, The love is requited they're just idiots about it, Time Travel, canon-typical continuity, loosely inspired by The Time Traveler's Wife, meaning NONE whatsoever, my new B/D tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29111667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culuyetille/pseuds/junetangerine
Summary: Late entry for BruDick Week 2021, Day 6. Prompt: Time travel.Dick gets sent back in time to when Bruce was a teenager. Under the name John Gray, he becomes Bruce’s martial arts instructor. When he returns to his present, he finds his connection to Bruce complicated even further by that additional layer.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne
Series: Bruce/Dick Week 2021 ficlets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131053
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88
Collections: BruDick Week 2021





	Always and forever

One moment, Dick was investigating a cult-like ritual with all the typical markers – eerie deserted location, candles, new moon, rune inscriptions, the works. Next thing he knew, energy soared through him and he blacked out.

It was morning when he came to in the middle of the woods, with a crick on his neck but otherwise uninjured. He looked around for any sign of his captors, or his bike, but there was only the wind on the leaves. His comm was fried, and his phone had no reception.

Dick climbed the tallest tree he could find, spotted a city, and began heading North-west.

Was it stealing if he left a $100 hanging from the clothesline from where he’d picked up a shirt and a pair of trousers?

It was only when he reached the urban sprawl that Dick could begin to gouge how much trouble he was actually in. At first, it was just a case of bad fashion sense. Then another, and another, and the cars, the store windows… a newspaper stand confirmed his alarming deductions: he had somehow been yeeted back 30 years.

Maybe he could try to contact Diana, but he had no idea how to go about that – starting with where she might be currently based, or how to get that information in this still largely analog era, with no contacts, no resources, no… nothing.

At least he was still in Gotham.

Like a moth to a flame, Dick made the trek to the Manor, not really knowing what help he hoped to find there, but drawn, nonetheless. The door opened to reveal a mostly black-haired Alfred, who stared at him with a polite-yet-definitely-threatening suspicion Dick didn’t know he was even capable of displaying.

“Are you an instructor candidate?”

“Yes,” lied Dick, standing straighter.

“What’s your name?”

“John… Gray.”

“Step inside, Mr. Gray. We’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you. Can I get a glass of water, please?”

To Dick’s knowing eye, Alfred looked contrite at the (‘frankly appalling’, Master Dick) lapse in his own manners. “Of course.”

Dick was shown to the small sunroom to the left of the Manor’s main entrance. Its only wall was covered floor-to-ceiling in flowery wallpaper. _A teenager would hardly think to redecorate_ , mused Dick wistfully; by his estimate, it had only been a few years since the Wayne’s tragic demise.

When Alfred returned with Bruce in tow, Dick’s chest ached. Bruce was… Bruce. Impeccably dressed, serious beyond his years, unapologetic intense stare laced with a determination of steel.

Thinking on his feet, Dick presented himself as a martial arts instructor. He made an educated guess and figured that Bruce had already decided what he intended to do with his life and was looking to begin preparing for it. A demonstration of his acrobatic abilities had the expected effect on a 14-year-old, and before the hour was out John Grayson had a job.

(--^^--)

Dick made an active effort to endear himself to Alfred, but what really got him into the older man’s good graces was how good he was with Bruce.

It felt a bit like cheating. Dick had done this before with Tim, Damian and (to a lesser degree) Jason, so he knew a thing or two about getting strong-headed and dangerously smart teenagers to listen to him. Plus, back in his original timeline, it was widely agreed upon that he was the one person who had the least trouble coaxing the annual smile out of everyone’s favourite grouchy detective. That was the result of innate compatibility as well as hard work; Dick knew Bruce, liked to think that he understood him as well as it is humanly possible to understand another person, and most importantly, he loved the man. Fierce and unreservedly, through good times, mortal danger, shouting matches, calamitous loss, small victories, and whatever else life threw at them.

He was also in love with his Bruce, bone-deep and irreparable.

It was a bittersweet, melancholy joy to be around this boy not yet so jaded that he wouldn’t snort softly at Dick’s puns and stare in wide-eyed wonder at what a trained aerialist-slash-skilled-fighter could do. It was tender heartbreak, being granted young Bruce’s tentative trust and evident respect.

Dick tried to honour it by giving his best, as it seemed he would always be compelled to do for any version of his favourite person in the multi-verse.

He often spoke of _his_ Bruce to his young pupil, delighted to be able to go on and on about the man’s awesomeness without dispute, accusations of favouritism or patronising smiles.

(--^^--)

When he wasn’t busy being John Gray, Dick turned every stone to find a way back to when he belonged. However, weeks upon weeks went by without any progress.

He dreamt of Bruce – _his_ Bruce – more often than usual. In many of those dreams Bruce was shouting at him from across a great distance, trying desperately to reach Dick through a brick-wall, thick vines covered in spikes, a treacherous bog, or some other equally unsurmountable obstacle. Sometimes they managed to grasp hands, but ultimately ended up slipping away from each other, swallowed by the mist.

(--^^--)

Dick realised that he must have gotten a little too comfortable not having to hide his affections when young Bruce approached him with all the solemnity of a teenager with a Serious Question.

“Can I ask you something, John?”

“Sure.”

He waited patiently while Bruce worked up the nerve to speak.

“This teacher that you always talk about… are the two of you… a couple?”

A dozen evasive answers rushed through Dick’s mind, but he ended up settling for a gentle way to say the truth.

“Nothing would make me happier, but that’s not his style.”

“Then he’s not as smart as you claim he is,” replied Bruce with a frown.

Dick grinned, heart swelling at the boy’s sweet protectiveness. “Even very smart people can be dumb, at times,” he said with a wink. 

(--^^--)

Even as he got more and more involved in the life of teenager Bruce, as both an instructor and a friend, Dick knew that he would have to leave at some point. He didn’t know how or when that would happen, but he was adamant about not wanting Bruce to feel abandoned – not again, not _ever_. And so he wrote him a letter and stuffed it inside the padded vest he constantly had to remind Bruce to use for sparring.

_Dear Bruce and Alfred,_

_If you’re reading this, that means I had to leave you. I’m sorry for not warning you in advance, but I have responsibilities elsewhere._

_I want to thank you for the time we spent together. I can honestly say that I’ll always remember these days among the best of my life. It was a pleasure and a privilege being around the two of you._

_Bruce, I’m honoured to be a part of your journey. You will be a great man and will do a lot of good for many, many people. You’re the most capable person I’ve ever met, and your heart is in the right place. Try to listen to it every once in a while, ok?_

_Alfred, my good friend: take care._

_Hopefully we will meet again._

_J. G._

A few days had passed before the letter reached its receivers after the sudden and mysterious disappearance of John Gray.

(--^^--)

It would be a spectacular understatement to say that Bruce didn’t like a whole lot of people, but he was especially wary of John Constantine. Not just because of the man’s charming personality, but most of all because if Constantine was needed, that meant a magical problem, and Bruce _hated_ magic. It could not be understood, anticipated, or prepared for, and was usually the province of unreasonable people attempting dubious, often risky things.

However, every other search venue came up empty and, after Diana ascertained that there was the magical equivalent of a bloody trail at Dick’s last known location, with Zatanna unavailable, Bruce made the call.

Constantine was his usual acerbic self but seemed to know better than to fuck with the Batman when he was on Concerned Parent Mode (Tim’s words, and Bruce would use different ones, but he didn’t disagree with the sentiment). And what was more important, Constantine was actually able to help them. Either through a thorough examination of the scene, his seashell trinkets, or a combination of both, he determined that Dick had invaded an amateur ritual charm and was temporally displaced (later, they would find out that the would-be-sorcerer wanted to go back in time to save his father’s business and prevent a family-wrecking suicide further down the line).

In order to bring Dick back, first they must locate him. That involved more trinkets, foul-smelling powders, and the discovery that Bruce happened to be Dick’s Cosmic Anchor Point, or some other equally significant arcane designation for something that had more emotional weight than Bruce could bear on a good day, let alone after two whole weeks constantly grappling with the notion that Dick Grayson might very well be gone for good.

According to Constantine, the Anchor factor was a blessing: it meant that he functioned as Dick’s tether, narrowing down the search process considerably by limiting it to Bruce’s lifespan. It also meant that they could try to use Bruce as a sort of string or thread that could be magically tugged, and with some luck Dick would tug at his own end in response and lead them to him.

It was an arduous process with unintended consequences.

Bruce wanted to be mad at Constantine for not being completely honest about what the procedures involved, but in reality, there was only himself to blame – himself and the deplorable feelings he had for Dick, whom by all rights should have been like family to him but instead just burned right through Bruce’s core as a gaping gash of need and desire that the mage was now privy to, given that he’d acted as a conduit in the astral encounters that had allowed them to pinpoint Dick’s temporal coordinates.

Bruce had actually had to suffer the mortification of witnessing Constantine make an effort to be polite as he instructed Bruce to zone in on his ‘devotion’ during the retrieval ritual.

In the end, they had Dick back with nothing wounded other than Bruce’s pride, at which Constantine aimed his parting shot.

“When you called me, I agreed to come because I wanted the Batman to owe me one. I’d like to cash it in now.”

Bruce nodded tersely and watched as Constantine took his time lighting up a cigarette.

“I want immunity.”

“What from?”

“From you when I tell you to get your head out of your ass and believe me when I say, one cynical bastard to another: what you and bluebird have doesn’t come by easy. Don’t spit on it.”

Bruce’s headache hadn’t abated by the time he drifted from vigil into a fitful sleep by Dick’s bedside.

(--^^--)

Dick woke up at home, surrounded by his family. It wasn’t until the following day that he had a moment alone with Bruce, who seemed to be buzzing with residual concern and wouldn’t let Dick out of his sight but also wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“There’s something I don’t know if I should include in the report,” he began casually, and waited until he had Bruce’s attention to continue. “Do you remember John Gray?”

_I don’t remember ever mentioning him to you_ , said Bruce’s narrowed eyes.

“That’s where I was. I didn’t know what to do with myself in the 80’s, so I… came home.” _To you_ , Dick didn’t say.

Why must every new development of this situation hammer a new nail in the coffin of Bruce’s sanity? He hadn’t thought about John Gray in years. He had tried tracking him down once he had half-decent detective skills, but the man was a ghost. He didn’t remember a face but could still recall how it had felt to have someone who believed unequivocally that Bruce Wayne could accomplish amazing things.

That memory added to the thousand papercuts that pierced his insides whenever he looked at Dick, the thing he’d strenuously kept in check for so long before he was forced to put a name to it, to have it spoken of by another, to acknowledge as inescapable fact.

Words had never come easily to Bruce, and he was not sure whether what he needed to make known could even fit into the constraints of language but try he must.

“I left something out of the report, too.” He took a steadying breath. Dick was watching him with rapt curiosity. “The locating charms, they were… potentialized by certain aspects of my connection to you.”

“Oh?” prompted Dick softly.

_Please don’t hate me_ , was Bruce’s simple, visceral wish as he took Dick’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss against the knuckles.

(--^^--)

“Cosmic anchor point, huh?” said Dick with an amused grin as he laced his fingers with Bruce’s.

It had been a few days, and Bruce’s breath still faltered a little at the sight of Dick in his bed.

“That’s what he called it.”

“So, basically we’re magically superglued together?”

“… I guess.”

“Perfect,” sentenced Dick.

There was no trace of amusement in his voice, only heartfelt certainty and, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Bruce found himself looking forward to the future.

_~Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise if Constantine and magic in general came off weird. I did zero research, because this week I challenged myself to just Get It Done and that meant trimming off everything that wasn’t essential. I tried to make it less bad by always showing him through Bruce’s super biased perspective, so that inaccuracies can also be attributed to how our dear Bats sees it all as illogical mumbo-jumbo.  
> Other than that, I can honestly say that this story grew much longer than my initial estimate and that it now has a special place in my heart. I hope you liked it too :)


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